Interlaced
by NeoNails
Summary: Oneshot. One-sided Prentiss/Reid. "I thought you were asleep," she murmurs lamely. She doesn't quite know what to say to him when he stares at her with that blank, analytical expression. Spoilers for 7.06, Epilogue.


I have such a weak spot for Prentiss/Reid, and the microscopic scene in this week's episode (7.06, _Epilogue_) was enough to make me spaz, especially coupled with everything else that went on in the last season.

This takes place right before _Epilogue _ends.

$4$

_A friend who dies, it's something of you who dies._

- Gustave Flaubert

* * *

><p>The plane ride back is quiet—fairly commonplace after a particularly grueling case—but there's a level of unnaturalness to it that makes Prentiss uneasy. She's having more trouble than she's willing to admit adapting back to her old ways.<p>

She was never more aware of how truly _lonely_ her life was until she was stuck in cheap motel after cheap motel in Paris. She had no one in her life, no one of importance, to go home to or talk to or drag along when she was bored and in need of a drink. True, J.J. knew she was alive and where she was biding her time, but it wasn't as though the blonde could just drop by whenever she pleased.

As a result, she spent a large majority of her time in the city of romance stricken with varying degrees of depression. She managed to survive—she always found a way—but towards the end she found herself thinking some very dangerous thoughts.

She leans her head back against the faux leather seats. Everyone else in the jet is asleep, and while exhaustion is pulling at the corners of her eyes, she refuses to succumb. She has too much to think about tonight.

She's so lost in her thoughts, in fact, that she's completely shocked when Reid drops down into the seat next to her. She blinks up at him owlishly—she forgets how tall he is most of the time, until they're actually sitting or standing directly next to one another and there's no denying that despite his age he has a couple inches on her.

"I thought you were asleep," she murmurs lamely. She doesn't quite know what to say to him when he stares at her with that blank, analytical expression. She knows there about a billion different things running through the young doctor's head, and any one of them could be bad for her.

"I wanted to wait until everyone else fell asleep to talk to you." They don't often sit this close to one another, and the proximity makes her feel off-kilter. He gives off more body heat than she expects from someone so thin and lean.

Prentiss resists the urge to bite her lip, or give any other signs that his statement has made her squirm. Regardless of what he has to say next, she knows intuitively that she's not going to enjoy it.

"Is everything okay?" she prompts him, twisting her body so as to better face him and resting her hands on the tops of her thighs, mirroring his own position.

"You died that night," he says. It's a statement, not a question. Reid's never been one for beating around the bush, and it's not like she should be surprised that he chose to do the same for this conversation. Still, the way he states it so matter-of-factly stings a bit.

"Yes," she whispers. This close, she can see flecks of amber-gold in his eyes. Eyes that are usually filled with a certain amount of warmth when viewing her, but now are disturbingly empty.

"You didn't tell me," he states. The dimmed lights in the jet make him look older, the planes of his face sharper and more pronounced.

"I didn't tell anyone," she replies, looking down at her lap. "Only J.J. knew. And even then, I never told her what I saw."

"Why?"

Instinctively, she knows he's not asking why she never told J.J., or anyone else for that matter. He's asking why she never told _him_. "I…" she falters, looks up and meets his eyes, looks back down again. "I don't know."

"I would have understood," he says. There's no judgment in his voice, but she would take that over the flat, emotionless tone.

"I know you would have," she tells him. Her words are sincere, and she wants him to know that so she stares him in the eye until she thinks he realizes she's not lying or placating him. "I didn't… I couldn't talk about it."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she continues, examining her red and raw cuticles. "At least, I didn't want to. I didn't want to hurt any of you."

"But you did," Reid replies flatly. She tenses, the words feel like rubbing salt in a barely healed wound.

"But I did," she agrees, licking her dry lips. "I should've made sure someone told you and Garcia and Morgan and Rossi, but… I was afraid."

His eyebrows contract barely a millimeter in the middle, but otherwise he gives nothing else away. She swallows—admitting this is going to hurt, she knows it—and adds, "I was afraid that if J.J. or Hotch told you guys that I was alive… you might try to find me."

"I wasn't alive in Paris," she whispers, shutting her eyes and tilting her head away from him. "It would be dangerous for you to find me, but I was too ashamed to even be that selfish. I didn't want you to see me at my absolute worst. And that's including when I was Lauren."

"Aren't we a family?" Reid counters, and she opens her eyes in surprise. Hearing the words from his mouth always make it feel more real somehow. "Isn't your family supposed to be the people that see you at your worst?"

She studies him—she's reminded again that the latest haircut suits him well—and sighs a little. "That may be," she murmurs. "But I'm not that strong."

His dark eyes soften for the first time, and while she knows she's not off the hook with him yet, the miniscule slip makes her feel so much better. "You're too hard on yourself," he disagrees, and his hand covers hers.

She stares incomprehensibly at their overlapping hands, and she's reminded of a time a few years ago when he was going through his own problems and he couldn't look at her without a healthy dose of contempt. His skin feels so much warmer than hers, and if she had more time she might consider the length and size of his fingers in comparison to her remarkably smaller and stubbier ones. "Somehow I doubt you're looking in the mirror when you're saying this stuff."

Reid's face colors, and she smiles at his embarrassment. She doesn't see enough of that reaction from him anymore. "I'm working on it," he replies.

"You should," she says. Her fingers wrap around his, squeezing as reassuringly as she's capable. "You're a lot stronger than people think. If you weren't, you wouldn't have had the nerve to confront me about all of this."

"I'm happy you lived," he says, and the honesty of it all truly takes her breath away. "I'm just not happy about how it all went down."

Her fingers lace through his, taking that surprising amount of warmth and strength he's exuding. "I'm not happy about how a lot of things went down," she replies, thinking of Declan and Chloe and even Ian to some extent. "But please believe me when I say I'm happy to be back with all of you."

An odd, errant thought crosses her mind, but she manages to keep her tongue in check. "You should probably go to sleep sometime soon," she whispers instead, glancing over at J.J. snoozing gently on Hotch's shoulder. "Just so you're not completely exhausted when we get back."

Reid's smile is crooked, and her little thought blooms into something bigger as she watches him. "I think I can miss one night's sleep and survive," he answers wryly.

She wants to argue with him, but she glances down once more at their intertwined fingers and her argument sort of disappears.

For the rest of the flight, they spend their time like this, holding hands as the rest of the team drifts along in peaceful slumber. And for the rest of the flight, she's left to her very curious and out of character thoughts, wondering where exactly they came from and where she was planning on taking them.

"_Please believe me when I say I'm happy to be back with all of you."_

"_I'm happy to be back with you."_

* * *

><p><em>Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.<em>

- C.S. Lewis

$4$

I'm a little afraid this is slightly out of character, but I liked the way it ended so I couldn't be bothered to try and fix anything. I didn't want to ruin the context of the conversation.

What did you guys think? Not too shabby for my second attempt? :)


End file.
